Have Yourself A Merry
by JMK758
Summary: Just before Christmas, Gibbs and the Team search for a missing child.
1. Pageant

This story takes place, in the course of my on-going Mystery Series, after 'Pieces', and is therefore counted as my seventeenth story and sixth of the second season.  
The usual legal disclaimers apply. The only characters I own are Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory and associated NCIS Agents not mentioned in the television series who flesh out a 24/7 operation involving 12 MCR Teams.

Have Yourself A Merry  
by JMK758  
Chapter One  
Pageant

Three weeks ago

Timothy McGee very quietly opens the fourth floor office door, not wanting to alert the woman seated across the room with her back to him. The radio on her desk is just finishing 'Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer' and then begins Alvin and the Chipmunk's 'Please Christmas don't be late'. Closing the door as quietly as he can, he watches the red headed woman's shoulders moving in a tiny dance as she sits working.

The office is sparsely furnished, a dual filing cabinet at the left wall, her desk facing the far wall, a cushioned couch along the right wall make up the only furnishings. Siobhan keeps the desk facing the wall so that, when addressing a visitor, she may turn the chair around and give that visitor her undivided attention with no barriers between them. McGee knows Mother Siobhan O'Mallory usually uses this office only on Tuesdays; the duties of the Curate of St. Mary the Virgin Church usually keep NCIS' Chaplain off site. He quietly crosses the room until he's directly behind her.

"Alvin?" he asks, making her jump slightly and turn about quickly in the seat to halt her rush when she sees him.

"Timmy!" she exclaims delightedly.

"Didn't scare you, did I?"

"Hardly, though you can take off the mask now."

"_Ow_."

"Your own fault."

He takes a moment, indulges in a moment actually, to look over his old friend. Typically she wears her uniform of black slacks and pale blue shirt; her most notable distinction is the two inch high stiff white collar encircling her throat.

"Timmy, I think if you keep looking at me like that I'm going to have to wash your brain out with soap."

"Worth the risk."

"Oh, so I'm a risk now?"

"You've always been a bit dangerous."

"Tar isteach, sui sios," she invites him brightly, brushing a lock of her long flame red hair from her face, her brogue making even short phrases sound particularly welcoming to him.

"You're still determined to try to teach me," he observes wryly, considering these recent weeks since she had begun she has not had much success. The flowing Gaelic words seem to fit about her tongue far better than his.

"How else might we enjoy a private conversation?"

"So, how am I doing?"

"Well," she considers carefully, "at this rate you'll be ready around the time we're in our fifties."

"Thanks a lot," he says. She had invited him to 'come in, sit down' so he relaxes on the couch, glad of any opportunity to get away from the Squad Room, especially if he may spend the time with this lovely woman.

"You're welcome a lot." Her smile removes any sting he might have felt - not that there had been any. He's well used to her sense of humor and usually knows what to expect, though he's frequently surprised anyway.

"So, Alvin and the Chipmunks?"

"I like them."

"Aren't you a little old for that?"

Her look is one of faux annoyance, deliberately exaggerated. "Timmy, a chuisle, _never_ tease a woman about her age, not even at Christmas; especially when you do know how old she is."

"I never thought of you as being vain."

"That's not vanity, that's strategy."

He thinks about this, "I don't get it."

Her smile is tinged with more teasing than she'd gotten. "That's because you're not a woman."

He decides to drop the subject, knowing he'll never win this one.

x

"What are you doing?" he asks, having noted the collection of papers scattered on the desk now behind her; better that than risking her tying his thoughts into knots, something she can do better than anyone he knows.

"Cheating," she admits with a half-shrug, "I had to get out of the office. I figured if I brought these here it would clear my head enough that I can find a way out of my predicament."

"Which one is this?" In the previous months she had had so many, the ongoing trial of Charley Morley being the most recent. For him it was a psychopathic vampire.

"Thanks," she says ruefully, turning the chair about. "This project is turning into a nightmare." Tim gets up and draws close beside her, looking at the explosion of papers. "When I talked the Vestry into resuming the great Annual Christmas Pageant, I had no idea it was going to be such a huge project. A lot of detail, rehearsals that can never seem to come together, schedules that don't mesh, the set on the Hall stage and music and sound and costumes…"

"And you being too stubborn to admit defeat," he taunts her lovingly.

"I _never_ admit defeat," she declares, but then has to concede that, "it's so much bigger than I'd thought, however."

"You should assign a committee."

"I havea committee - I have _three_ committees and you can see the result," she spreads her hand over the variety of papers before them. The depth of her frustration is something she would only allow him to see. "But I'll get it done - if I can figure out how to _pay_ for it all."

When she's stressed, her brogue gets stronger, it's always been a good indicator for him and this time she's very stressed. "What do you mean?"

"It's way more than I thought. When I proposed the idea to the Vestry one of my selling points was that it would be paid for from donations, not out of the Operating Budget and that I would cover the outstanding expenses." She pauses with a slightly sheepish expression, "but donations are slower and smaller than I expected and I'm in over my head."

"Wait a minute, _you're_ paying for it?" His tone makes her look up, he reads the answer in her emerald eyes. "What, out of your own pocket?"

Her shoulders slump, "Timmy, you know my whole salary from NCIS I give to the Church and just live off my Curate's stipend. That's one of the reasons I took this job in the first place, St. Mary's needed the money more than I did."

"Do you mean to tell me that for the past five mo–?" This is outrageous. "_All_ of it?"

She shrugs. "My choice." She starts to remove her gold framed glasses, puts them back on. "But this time I bit off more than I can chew. I overestimated how much would come in and now I'm–"

"How short are you?"

She shakes her head, "I could really use two thousand but–" He reaches into his pocket, "No, Timmy, _don't_."

He's determined not to hear another word from her; he opens his wallet and pulls out a blank check from the bill compartment, smoothes it out on the desk and writes, his manner showing how thoroughly he's ignoring her continuing protests. Finished, he hands her the check made out to 'St. Mary the Virgin Church'. "Consider it a Christmas present - and you renegotiate that deal; a _tithe_ is supposed to be ten percent." He feels he should hardly have to remind her.

"I do give ten percent - of my stipend."

"_Siobhan_."

"I have free room, all the food I need, even to snatching a plate at the Nutrition Program if I'm feeling peckish, my clothes…" she waves a hand over her 'uniform', "well, I have little need for more, _plus_ I have the best working wardrobe of anyone I know…."

His slap to the back of her head contains no force but a great deal of love. When she leans back into his hand, looking up at him, his lips come down to hers.


	2. Amber Alert

Chapter Two  
Amber Alert

Saturday before Christmas

The calendar is unforgiving, and since NCIS must be fully staffed every day there's a weekend rotation of Agents on every shift in addition to normal weekdays. This weekend immediately before Christmas that unenviable Alpha Shift duty falls to Gibbs and his team. And though the winter weather frequently translates into a reduction of activity, this time the call that comes in is a particularly unpleasant one. "Let's go, people," Gibbs orders, putting down the phone and opening his desk drawer, removing his shield and weapon. "A Sailor's five year old daughter vanished from her home. Metro Police already have an APB out and two teams are already on site. We're joining the search."

The five Agents snatch black coats, hats and gloves, each feeling much the same sense of foreboding. Each has faced Terrorist threats, deadly danger and mass murderers, but nothing hits the heart worse than a missing child.

xxx

When Gibbs' blue Charger pulls to a stop on the outskirts of the Maryland suburbs; closer to the outer edge of a National Park than to the actual town it's considered to be a part of, the black and white Major Case Response truck stops inches from its bumper. There is little free space on the normally quiet street of manicured lawns and recessed houses for another vehicle to fit. Metro PD, NPS, Fire and Volunteer Ambulances are represented, as are three NCIS teams. Gibbs notices the official limo of the Agency's Director. Added to that total are fourteen other vehicles of seemingly every variety.

Gibbs has already been told that those agents who are off duty but who reside closer to the scene than the Naval Base have been summoned; he isn't surprised by the turnout.

As the MCR team crosses the street to the obvious center of activity, Gibbs spots Ducky Mallard's vintage Morgan approaching from the other direction with Jimmy Palmer in the left hand passenger's side. Already several men and women in a multitude of uniforms, mixed civilian attire or NCIS black are exiting the front door, dispersing toward various cars. They make no attempt to slow any of them to obtain answers.

The air is crisp and cold, but there's no snow upon the ground. At times like this, everyone could wish for a nice even coating of virgin white.

x

The front door opens into the living room and they find a woman and man, apparently in their mid-thirties, seated upon the couch against the far wall; with them in nearby chairs are a uniformed MPDC Officer and Chaplain O'Mallory. To the left the kitchen is visible through the open arch and a knot of men and women surround the center table. Gibbs signals his team to find out what they may and he heads to the kitchen.

Director Jennifer Shepherd is in conference with a MPDC Captain, a Fire Chief, NPS Captain and several others. Shepherd turns to brief her Deputy SAIC. "Four hours ago Petty Officer Carolyn Selamanca, assigned to Norfolk, called to report she had come downstairs from cleaning to find that Natalie, age five, wasn't watching cartoons and the back door was open. Though the girl's coat is missing from the front rack, I've instructed Special Agent Kelman's team to treat this as a kidnapping. Everyone else will consider it a straight walkaway and search accordingly."

She indicates the map spread out on the table before them even as she hands another folded one to Gibbs. From the point which represents the house they occupy, a series of concentric rings have been drawn and these in turn have been quartered by the compass. She points to the large segment in the upper left. "These are at mile radii, I want you and your team to cover miles two to three in the northwest quadrant."

Leaning over, he studies the map for about a minute. The area is in the woodlands of the park this community borders. "Petty Officer Selamanca," he calls loudly and doesn't even wait for a reply "you got a flashlight?"

The brown haired woman wearing a white housedress appears in the doorway. "There's one in the upper right drawer," she points to the cabinet under the sink. "why?"

Gibbs steps to it and pulls it open. The junk drawer contains a variety of odds and ends – but no flashlight.

"Director Shepherd, why?" Selamanca asks again, not knowing the man's name so she'll address the only one from NCIS whose identity she does know. Her apprehension is high in her voice and Gibbs isn't doing much to ease it.

Returning to the map, Gibbs points to a spot upon it, one not in the arc Shepherd had directed, but the one closer in. "Who did you assign to that sector?"

"Martinson and his team; PD and Fire as well as volunteers." She too wants to know what's on his mind, her tone making that quite clear.

x

Gibbs knows the man well. Thorough and meticulous; Keith Martinson will start at the nine o'clock position, spread his team at five hundred meter intervals and sweep the sector clockwise with a fine toothed comb. "We'll start our search there." The point he indicates is near the northern end, up about eleven-fifteen. It will take several hours for Martinson's team to reach that point; Gibbs neither knows nor cares how the other searchers are conducting their sweeps.

Shepherd is annoyed; now isn't the time for maverick tactics. "Special Agent Gibbs, I as–"

"That mark indicates natural caves and the flashlight is missing."

"No, Natalie knows she's not allowed near there," Carolyn protests, not understanding the man's refusal to cooperate with a systematic search. Natalie would never disobey her; that area has always been off limits. "She knows where it is, everybody does, but we tell her she can never go there."

Gibbs, however, remembers what it's like to be a father. "When does a five year old ever do everything she's told?"

He looks pointedly at Shepherd and receives her sharp nod of assent.


	3. Search

Chapter Three  
Search

When the three cars reach a point in the bare woods at the edge of the hillside, Gibbs gets out of his car, withholding his reaction at the size of the team that chose to follow his lead. He'd expected his team to follow as a matter of course but Ducky, Jimmy Palmer and Mother O'Mallory have also joined the search here.

"Ducky?"

"When we find the girl here" the venerable man replies, looking at the opening in the side of the Maryland hill, "she will certainly be cold and hungry. You may need a medical man." There's nothing at all of doubt in that declaration, he firmly believes Gibbs has made the right choice.

Gibbs checks his watch, the girl has been missing for nearly four hours, this spot is a little less than a half hour's walk, assuming the girl knows the way and came directly here. He has to admit that's a big assumption, but his gut tells him it's the right one.

And if he should be wrong, he hasn't interrupted the progress of the search and he can still make it to their assigned sector in plenty of time.

The cave is little more than a seven foot hole in the hill, having nothing particular to distinguish it. Grown over and ignored, it's unlikely to attract attention with Luray and Mammoth caves being national attractions. They average a constant 54 degrees year round – he'd checked with McGee on this on the way out – but those are deeper than this one and can take advantage of the insulating earth. It won't be 54 inside here.

Even the position of this unused and seemingly largely forgotten cave in a National Park nets it no notoriety. It is what it appears to be, a dull hole. There are several boards blocking easy entrance - if one were an adult walking upright - and these contain such directives as 'No Trespassing', 'Keep Out' and 'Danger'. There is also an official warning posted on one board detailing what penalties would accrue if one is caught violating the intent of the other warnings and orders. It's not an impressive barricade and to the perpetually inquisitive mind of a small child it's an announcement of a treasure trove of exciting exploration.

"McGee?"

"I've downloaded a map of the caves; they were last done twenty seven years ago by the USGS," the computer expert replies succinctly, holding up his blackberry and then transmitting the images to each of the others' units, not looking up as he works. "There are four distinct branches of what's basically worthless rock; never mined, no ores, nothing valuable to speak of. Even before this area became a National Park this hole was pretty much ignored. There's nothing of interest inside - except if you're a five year old child that is." He too has no doubt his boss' gut has led him truly.

"All right, break out the gear. Flashlights, ALS' as backups if needed. Distribute radios; we'll have lousy cell phones reception but use them as well - keep in constant touch. McGee and O'Mallory, left branch. DiNozzo and David, right of them; Palmers, you've got the third; Ducky, you're with me."

"Always have been, Jethro."

x

Before they can move to gather equipment from the MCR Van a vehicle skids to a stop behind them. They turn to find Abby Sciuto's black convertible – the 'Batmobile' – being covered by a fine layer of road dust from its wake. She's out of the car in a moment. "Wait for me," she exclaims, unwilling to be left out of this recovery. "They told me where you were starting out."

"We have a full team plus," Gibbs tells her. "You should help one of the other teams." No matter how many people they have on this search, they will never have enough.

"Why go with them, when you're the ones who're going to find her?"

Against that expression of total faith, he has no argument. "All right, you're with Ducky and I in the far right tunnel."

x

While the teams prepare, Michelle Palmer remains still, eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to everyone around her. She hasn't moved since stepping out of the car and only opens her eyes again when the noises about her fade down to nothing. When she does she finds herself looking into the chest of the towering Senior Agent.

"You _with_ us, Palmer?" he demands, having neither time nor patience for anything but the hunt.

"Sir, she's here." She declares it so definitely that DiNozzo turns on her, deeply aggravated.

"Probette, we have no time for your psycho-mumbo-jumbo."

Jimmy comes nose-to-nose with the agent - _no one_ will speak to his wife in that manner. "It is _not_ mumbo-jumbo!"

"_HEY_!" Gibbs barks sharply to the two men, "do I have to build a fence around you two?" He turns back to Michelle. "What?"

"Sir, there _is_ someone alive in there. I have a very strong sense of it," she points to the far right of the hill, well away from the mouth of the cave, "in _that_ direction."

Gibbs doesn't fully understand her talent or her certainty, but though he doesn't believe it's never stopped him from making use of it. It is, to him, no different than his own gut feeling and one of his jobs is to train her to learn, by experience, when she's following something correctly and when she isn't. That knowledge can't come from the classroom, only from action. "Then that's where you make your search, we'll take tunnel three." He turns back to his extended team. "Move out."

xx

The ground at the entrance to the cave displays far too much activity for Gibbs' taste. As soon as they're beyond the useless barriers he crouches down, examining the ground, DiNozzo beside him. "Sure has a lot of traffic," he mutters disgustedly, shining his flashlight along the ground as far as the intense beam can reliably penetrate to track the various footpaths into the blackness.

Footprints show heavy traffic, all sizes of shoes and sneakers, the scuffs and marks and disturbances of dirt, dust and leaves telling a story going back years.

The group moves slowly, carefully tracking the multitude of footprints which gradually thin out as dirt, dust and leaves are replaced by harder rock. When they reach the first left branch, to which he'd assigned McGee and O'Mallory, some of the remaining visible tracks turn onto it, most do not. Too many still do.

The man and woman start down this dark path, wishing that in all the traces they had found, some of them could have been distinguished as a small child of perhaps fifty pounds.

x

The cave is black as pitch save for the intense lights that spear through it, lighting walls of stone that could have gone for centuries between illuminations, barring the USGS team's explorations nearly 30 years ago. The interior of the hill is colder than the outside, having never seen the sun. There's no path of any kind; the natural trails were made by bubbles of expanding gas when the Earth was in its infancy. They slope, they dip, they meander in meaningless directions and in all there is utter silence. The walls are smooth in some places, rough in others, all following the dictates of blind chance.

Each team has split off in turn according to the maps on the illuminated screens in their hands, following the paths in silence, listening carefully for anything they might be able to discern.

Michelle, following a path of sensation which broke off to the right thirty feet into the main tunnel, has no doubt she is leading the man beside her straight to Natalie Salamanca. She's impressed by how far the child has penetrated and finds herself admiring the tenacity of the young explorer, but she has no doubt she can feel the life ahead of her. It's large, it's intelligent, and she's certain it's human.

They've adjusted the beams of their maglights so Jimmy's is a wide field covering walls, floor and ceiling before them while hers cuts through the tunnel like a laser.

x

"I don't know how you can stand to work with that man." Jimmy mutters, finally putting the resentment she can feel like a torch beside her into words.

"You get used to it," she replies softly. Something about being this deep in unbridled nature seems to forbid speaking aloud, at least by her. "He doesn't understand, so he confuses Wicca with natural talent."

She'd told him that anyone who listens with the soul as well as the ears can do some of the things she can, but teaching it is another matter; one must begin with listening. DiNozzo is an experienced Agent and tracking malefactors is a definite skill, but if he would just open himself up to the– "We're close!" she whispers sharply.

She sees Jimmy's about to call out and quickly clamps her hand over his mouth, the beam of her flashlight whipping about wildly. "Do you want to bring the whole mountain down on us or scare the life out of her?" Shushing him, she pulls her hand away and turns back to the source of the sensations; "This way."

Jimmy doesn't mention that, for an unexcavated cave like this, noise isn't a problem to fear in causing a cave in. He knows it's fear that made her reprimand him; fear he's not going to call her on. He doesn't like a billion tons of rock over his head either.

x

A hundred feet further, Jimmy stops. "Turn off your flash," he commands softly, switching off the powerful though scattered field. She doesn't argue. When her light is doused they are left standing in blackness.

Michelle waits ten seconds, then: "Yes, this is very sexy and has possibilities if we weren't looking for a child and it weren't so cold, but–"

"Don't you see it?"

She turns, staring intently ahead and gradually she does; the path ahead isn't totally black. Switching on her flashlight again, she finds that the light she'd seen is coming very faintly from a turn to the right. She hurries forward, using the beam only to avoid tripping over loose debris. They make the turn together, his diffuse beam lighting the chamber, hers a spear of light stabbing into the dead end.

The shrill shriek that splits the air does indeed come from a girl, but she is easily sixteen years old and the boy cuddled in her arms isn't much older. The light comes from a half burned candle stuck upon a rock. They're still fully clothed in the cold, but both of them are frozen in the beams that lance their bodies.

Michelle stands equally frozen at this tableau, surprise crumbling under shock and disappointment at the failure of the search battering against frustration and finally searing anger wins over all. Her certain trail led to this … this … "WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU _DOING_?" her furious screech echoes off the walls and reverberates down the tunnel behind them - she doesn't _care_ now if she causes a cave in! "GET THE F*CK OUT OF HERE BEFORE I DRAG YOU BACK TO YOUR HOMES BY YOUR LILY WHITE ASSES!"

Such is her fury and their fear that they're gone on the beams of wildly jerking flashlights long before the echo of her threat fades from the air.

x

Michelle stands trembling in rage, unable to believe the intensity of her own fury. Panting heavily, she casts the beam of her flashlight here and there about the dead end of the tunnel, picking out a box of candles and everywhere used condom sheaths. She spies a broken pair of thong panties and, in a far end of the cave is an abandoned bra….

She turns back to Jimmy; they face one another in the spears of their light beams. "I felt – _life_! I felt–" she tries to bring her emotions down but the mix of anger and embarrassment roils through her and the steam of her breath is heavy in the air. "I couldn't tell how many - I can't _know_ what they were doing–"

"Don't worry about it."

"_Don't_ -," she wants to shriek her outrage.

"'Chelle, you had the trace, find another one."

"'Find another one', he says." But when he doesn't answer, she closes her eyes, working to calm her emotions, working to control her anger, to relax her body and gradually clear her mind. She tries to reach out with her feelings, to follow her training; reaching further - further - further still." She shakes her head, giving up.

"You can do it."

"I found a whole _load_ of them!" she waves her hand in the direction of the main body of the hill. "The other search teams, maybe more." She shakes her head, dejected. "I hope they have better luck.

Jimmy raises his radio to report their finding nothing - not their failure. He isn't interested in what will happen when two frightened teenagers run head-on into the search parties sweeping the area.


	4. Tracking

Chapter Four  
Tracking

Leroy Gibbs kneels on one knee, his flashlight probing the fine layer of dust and dirt on the cave floor, then advancing his beam a few feet further ahead; the angled beam picking out the prints he wants from the multitude he chooses to ignore. Near his knee is a small scuff where a foot has moved some of the pebbles and fine earth, a little further on another, slightly left of forward, the gait just the right distance. "This way," he announces, choosing the left fork of two natural paths, the break not on their map. He is sure the false tunnel is so short it won't appear on the tiny screen. Left is the way to go.

With anyone else, that level of certainty in the tone would certainly cause Ducky Mallard to propose that they split up, just in case, especially with Abby accompanying them. He would join her; not about to let her go alone, but against Gibbs' certainty he will not do it. He has far more faith in the Agent's tracking ability than in many other men's. As Gibbs had once said on the subject of map reading, 'I used to do this for a living'.

Ducky twists the control on his flashlight, expanding the beam to the widest possible field; diffuse as it is it allows them to see the tunnel as a whole, while Gibbs and Abby keep their flashes with the more focused beams for detail work. They continue down the cold path, occasionally pausing for a moment to examine the ground, but once Gibbs is certain he has found traces that are recent, definitely a child's trail, there are no more pauses and soon they find the tunnel is no longer quiet.

x

From far ahead the trio hears muffled sounds, soft and faint, which as they move closer resolve themselves into soft sobs. Walking faster, they track the sounds until Gibbs' beam of light lances, far ahead of them, a small figure seated huddled upon the stone; long brown hair, a pink dress, a ruddier coat and an air of misery and fright. "Natalie?"

She looks up at them through tear reddened eyes, her arms wrapped about her raised knees under her pink dress. "It went out," she sobs. On the ground before her lies a silver flashlight.

The two men crouch on either side of the child as Abby stands illuminating them by the diffuse beam of her own maglight as she uses her radio to report their success and to alert the other search parties to rendezvous at the mouth of the cave. DiNozzo had reported earlier that his own search down a short cave had been unsuccessful; he is by the entrance and will radio Shepherd.

Ducky examines the crying child for injuries, grateful to find none. Gibbs removes his heavy jacket and wraps it about her. Her body is cold, but swaddled snugly now in the heavy material she'll soon recover. "Your mommy and daddy sent us. We'll take you home."

Picking her up, Gibbs carries her as she clings tightly to him, still cold and frightened but recovering in his arms. Ducky and Abby light the way back.

x

By the time they reach daylight there's a crowd of people awaiting them. EMS, Police, NPS, other NCIS agents, reporters; the scene is one of delighted chaos. Gibbs happily gives over the now considerably warmer child into the care of her parents and, never caring for the limelight, manages to fade into the background.

xxx

It's sometimes disconcerting how the chaos and stress of the day can seemingly convert itself back into normality by the time the Agents return to Headquarters and their normal lives. But this time it's with a sense of satisfaction that carries them through the remainder of their shift. In due time that shift is over and everyone prepares to head off to their normal off-duty routines - or so they might think until Tim McGee walks into the bullpen in his best blue three piece suit. "Where you going, Probie? Got a hot date?"

"Not exactly, Tony," he counters with particular satisfaction, "just going to a Christmas event at Siobhan's Church." He pulls an index card sized blue invitation from his vest pocket. "Reserved seating." It's not a truly big deal, not front row center seats to a Broadway extravaganza, but still he gives it all the relish he can, and his smile lasts right up until DiNozzo picks up an identical card from his desktop.

He turns to Ziva, further disconcerted to find her holding one as well. He tries to recoup as much distinction as he can. "Well, I got _mine_ for making a very substantial contribution to this event."

"Really? How much, McKringle?"

"Well, I really shouldn't boast, but - two thousand dollars."

"Really? She only hit _me_ up for a grand."

"Me too." Ziva says, Tim feeling the pedestal slipping out from under him.

Movement from behind him makes him turn to find Gibbs entering the bullpen, having changed into a tan suit. "Aren't you two ready yet?" he inquires, looking at DiNozzo and David.

Tim absolutely does not want to ask. "Boss, did Mother O'Mallory come to you for a contribution for this Pageant?"

"No, McGee, she didn't. She _did_ tell me she was short on making ends meet, that they might not be able to do all they had planned for Christmas; I had a bonus to spare so I helped her out."

"How much?"

"Twenty five hundred."

"Oh, she is _good_," DiNozzo enthuses.

"You are not annoyed?" Ziva asks Tony, realizing the extent of the operation.

"That she got us to make huge donations to the Church without _asking_ for it while making us think it was our idea? I wouldn't have any respect for her as a Priest if she didn't." He grabs his coat off the hanger behind him. "Well, I'm changing at home. I want to see this Pageant even more now, for sixty five hundred it should be spectacular."

"Seventy five hundred," Michelle counters, pulling on her own coat. Catching their stares, she says defensively; "she gave me a huge discount on my wedding."

"Oh, she _is_ good!" DiNozzo repeats.


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

None of the MCR Team Agents are completely surprised when they arrive at the huge Hamilton Hall that runs the length of the Church on its north side, either at its staggering degree of decoration, the festive Christmas music filtering in from the many speakers lining the walls, the picturesque stage erected at the far end or the presence of Ducky and Director Shepherd in the growing crowd. Jimmy Palmer, clad in his best suit escorts his elegantly attired wife Michelle. Ducky and Shepherd have arrived together and Abby rode with Gibbs.

As they stand together near the stage in the midst of the growing crowd, the air filled with convivial conversation and festive vocal and instrumental music of the season, they can't help but take note of the back of the program picked up from a table near the door. "Some very familiar names in the Grand Patron list," Tony points out, causing each to peruse his or her own copy. "Tell me, what sort of donations did you contribute?"

"Well, she said she was short on the expenses and was paying out of pocket - I _couldn't_ let her do that." Jimmy protests.

"How much?"

"A thousand dollars."

"Ditto," Abby agrees.

Ducky's expression is a bit more suspicious, "The dear lady told me she was in debt fifteen hundred."

"No, it was …" Jennifer starts to protest, then realizes the extent of the situation; "twenty five hundred."

"Wheeew," DiNozzo whistles, impressed. "Thirteen five; _not_ a bad haul - I mean donation."

x

"Excuse me," a young black woman steps up to them, "are you ladies and gentlemen from NCIS?"

"That's right," Jennifer answers for them.

"I recognize some of you. I'm Melanie Velez," she reminds those of them that met her earlier, "I'm one of the Ministers here. We met at the beginning of the summer." The Field Agents recall the incident; it was during one of their initial visits during the Morley case. "We have front row seating reserved for our Grand Patrons, and I would like to thank you for your generous donations. Most of that is going toward our Food Drive for the shut-ins of the Parish."

"Oh, you're very welcome, I'm sure," Jennifer says, "but the reserved sea–"

"AGENTGIBBS!" The ear-shattering shriek is only possible from the mouth of a five year old child and he barely has time to turn and brace himself for the careening juggernaut that slams into his legs, two arms clinging tightly to him. "!"

Into this stunning spectacle come, at a far more reasonable pace, Petty Officer Carolyn and Mr. Henry Selamanca accompanied by Reverend Siobhan O'Mallory.

"I'm so sorry, Agent Gibbs, she got away from me." Carolyn is embarrassed by her daughter's spectacle and the way she tightly clings to the man's legs.

"That's quite all right," He's quite surprised to see any of them here.

"Nollaig shona duit, a gra mo chroi," Siobhan whispers briefly to Tim as she passes him, wishing him a 'happy Christmas' along with a more personal greeting before addressing the others. "I invited the Selamancas as our guests," she explains, saving Gibbs the trouble of having to ask. Saint Mary's is a considerable distance from their home and they're the last people any of the Agents had expected to see this evening, "I felt, with everything that happened, that Natalie deserved a nice evening at least."

"Of course."

"Now come on, honey, let go of Agent Gibbs." Carolyn tries to coax the clinging child.

"_NO_!"

"Natalie…"

"NOHESAVEDMEHESAVEDME!"

Gibbs can see how embarrassed the man and woman are by this display. "Don't worry about it." With difficulty he gets down on one knee; difficult because Natalie clings to him as though he's a life ring. When he's down at her level she still has her arms tightly about him. "Natalie," he waits until he has her attention, "would you like a front row seat for the show?"

She pulls back just far enough to see his face and admits in a small voice, "I didn't get you a Christmas present."

x

In that moment Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the hardest and most unrelenting man in all of NCIS, is stricken, barely able to speak for the huge lump that appears in his throat. "Natalie," he finally manages, "I have known all sorts of Christmases in my life; but you being safe - that's the _best_ present of all."

He lifts her up, boosting her up upon his right shoulder and stands. Her face takes on a look of awe as she surveys the hall from a vantage of nearly seven feet.

"Oh!" Melanie exclaims; "before we begin the pageant can we get a picture here by the stage with the Grand Patrons?"

In rapid order the woman arranges them, Gibbs in the center with Natalie perched high upon his shoulder, her parents on either side; Tony, Ziva and Ducky to the right; Jimmy, Tim and Jennifer to the left; Siobhan standing before Tim, Michelle beside her in front of Jimmy and Abby in front of Tony; the decorated stage the background.

Melanie takes a position behind the front row of chairs so she can get everyone in the frame. "Now you all know what to say!" She raises the camera.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"


End file.
